Watching Xi'an Locals Eat Bread Reveals the Limits of Human Creativity
It's often said that visiting Xi'an without eating "mo" is practically a wasted trip.
Because Xi'an is indisputably the "Capital of Mo."
▲ Viewing the Qinling Mountains from Xi'an's Daming Palace | Photographer: @ThisArtIsReallyHardToUnderstand
Many first-time visitors to Xi'an make the mistake of not knowing this key detail. Eagerly following online guides, they dive straight into a big bowl of oil-splashed noodles upon arrival. Before even putting down their chopsticks, they start feeling off, followed by dizziness. Barely making it to the Bell Tower, they’re so exhausted they just want to hail a cab back to the hotel and sleep.
Local taxi drivers witnessing this mutter, "That’s no way to eat—starting off so intense. At least ease into it with some mo first."
Once you try it, you’ll understand why Xi'an alone deserves the title "Capital of Mo."
In a way, in Xi'an, "mo" is an umbrella term, a generalization.
It’s everywhere in Xi'an, in endless varieties—long, round, square, flat; soft, hard, sweet, spicy; layered, stuffed... To Xi'aners, they’re all "mo," just like all dogs respond to "tsk-tsk-tsk."
▲ Crispy and fragrant vegetable-stuffed pancake | Photographer: @FireflyForest
Most of Xi'an’s cuisine is somehow connected to mo.
Order a bowl of spicy soup or lamb offal soup for breakfast, and before you even speak, the owner asks, "How many mo?" It feels like a calculated sales tactic but also reflects deep culinary wisdom.
▲ Meatball spicy soup with soaked mo | Photographer: @Xiao Luo
While mo alone offers the satisfying taste of grain, it can be bland, needing companionship. Yet its mildness ensures it never overshadows other flavors. At the same time, its presence fills that nagging post-meal feeling of "almost full."
Order "paomo" (soaked mo), and the owner won’t even ask—two mo is the default.
In countless paomo joints, you’ll see locals pinching mo, chatting while tearing it apart. They don’t just tear their own—they sternly teach newcomers how to do it, stricter than elementary teachers, earning Xi'aners a reputation for stubbornness and lecturing.
But this is a misunderstanding. If you insist on machine-cut mo, locals won’t stop you—they’ll just sigh over your missed chance for a heart-to-heart moment.
▲ Beef paomo with fragrant broth and tender meat | Photographer: @Xiao Luo
Think of tearing mo as locals stealing a brief respite from daily hustle. Whoever tears their own mo owns that time. Life goes on, but in that moment, nothing feels urgent.
▲ To eat paomo, first tear the mo | Photographer: @Mr. Chen
When summer hits, Xi'aners love pairing nighttime barbecue with dry baked buns. Tear off a piece of the crispy, piping-hot bun, stuff it with skewered meat, and take a bite—the bun’s crunch and char wrap around the juicy, spiced meat, creating a flavor combo that feels like the ultimate food pairing.
▲ Pancake stuffed with grilled meat, absolutely delicious | Photographer: Mr. Chen
Before leaving, I made sure to ask the vendor to toast another pancake and grill a few skewers of meat, preparing a grilled meat stuffed pancake to take home.
Steamed buns are part of daily meals, and they’re also a must when hosting guests.
▲"Dark cuisine" cold noodles with gravy | Photographer: Xiao Luo
In recent years, trendy Shaanxi cuisine restaurants have popped up in Xi’an. When you open the menu, you’ll see a dazzling array of innovative dishes, but remember—these are mainly for taking photos and posting on social media. Locals entertaining friends at such restaurants won’t casually order something like "brush pastry." Instead, they’ll flip straight to the last few pages of the menu, only relaxing when they spot those classic dishes.
▲Guokui stuffed with "6" chili peppers | Photographer: Xiao Luo
Cantonese cuisine plays with soups, Sichuan cuisine plays with oils, but millennia-old Shaanxi cuisine relies on stuffed buns. A Shaanxi feast without braised pork buns or guokui stuffed with "6" chili peppers is like agreeing to play chess, sitting down ready for battle, only to find the king and general pieces missing from the cloth bag.
▲No problem can’t be solved by a "6" chili pepper stuffed bun | Photographer: Xiao Luo
When it comes to buns, Xi’an people never hold back their creativity.
Steamed buns are both the collaborative backbone of Xi’an’s noodle army and the independent elite of its culinary forces.
▲Pork head meat stuffed bun | Photographer: Xiao Luo
Office workers in Xi’an’s High-Tech Zone often grab a vegetable-stuffed bun in the morning when rushing to work, eating it on the go for convenience.
Vegetable-stuffed buns are the undisputed king of cost-performance. Their biggest selling point? A plate of mixed veggies costs 15 yuan, but for just 5 yuan, you get both the veggies and a bun—tasty and energizing, perfect for coding at your desk afterward.
▲A vegetable-stuffed bun that can hold a "universe" | Photographer: Xiao Chen
Some Xi’an locals often say that eating stuffed buns here means tasting the limits of human imagination, not the limits of the buns themselves.
▲Steamed meat stuffed bun | Photographer: Xiao Luo
You’ll never guess what Xi’an people might stuff into a bun: "6" chili peppers, chili oil, marinated pork, cured beef, tenderloin, steamed minced meat, fried skewers, tofu and eggs, stir-fried meat with cumin, pork knuckle, chicken strips, spicy hot pot, cold skin noodles, potato slices, glutinous rice cake, spicy strips, stinky tofu… If you’re feeling adventurous, you could even stuff the Big Wild Goose Pagoda in there—anything goes in a bun.
On a hot day touring the Bell Tower, craving ice cream? Open the freezer at a nearby convenience store, and you’ll find rows of meat-stuffed bun ice creams.
▲Steamed pork with rice flour stuffed bun | Photographer: Mr. Chen
That’s why people often say: Only by understanding stuffed buns can you truly understand Xi’an.
Xi'an locals are connoisseurs of steamed buns. If you buy a stuffed bun to eat on the go, a Xi'an passerby can tell at a glance whether it was machine-made or handcrafted by a skilled baker.
▲ A Bai Ji bun still being griddled | Photographer: Xiao Luo
Friends who return home after graduating from university in Xi'an all miss stuffed buns without exception. Ask a Xi'an local to bring back some local specialties, and someone might actually carry a roujiamo (pork-stuffed bun) onto a plane from miles away.
▲ A腊汁肉夹馍 (braised pork stuffed bun) with a perfect balance of lean and fatty meat | Photographer: Mr. Chen
Living in the "Bun Capital," Xi'an locals possess extraordinary insights into steamed buns.
For example, if you tell a Xi'an friend that life feels turbulent lately, leaving you unsettled and anxious, they might respond, "Don’t overthink it—just go have a 'San Qin Combo' for lunch."
▲ The classic "San Qin Combo" | Photographer: Little Lu
They’d explain: Liangpi (cold noodles), Bingfeng (orange soda), and roujiamo form three points that create a triangle—and triangles are stable. Whenever they feel lost, they eat this combo. The symmetry is key; missing one item won’t do.
Similarly, when online visitors complain about sudden weight gain after indulging in Xi'an’s food, locals quickly reassure them: "Don’t panic—eat more steamed buns to shed pounds fast." It’s like receiving a text from Emperor Qin Shi Huang asking for 200 yuan to hitch a ride from Mount Li back to Xianyang—absurd, yet the buns somehow help you reverse time, reclaim your ideal weight, and restore confidence.
▲ Potato-stuffed bun | Photographer: Geng Sanyi
If you ask whether eating steamed buns before or after a meal is better for weight loss, I’d say before—because you might not have room afterward.
Buns and noodles hold equal importance in the life stories of Shaanxi people.
When a Shaanxi child is born, elders celebrate with Quilian buns. When an elder passes away, descendants send them off with floral buns.
▲ Quilian floral buns | Visual China
From weddings to funerals, births to deaths, buns bear witness to Shaanxi’s pivotal life moments.
Year after year, as seasons change, buns serve as ceremonial gifts for festivals: jujube buns for Spring Festival, Qizi buns for February 2nd, dough swallows for Qingming, reunion buns for Mid-Autumn. Even on Kitchen God Day (23rd of the 12th lunar month), locals bake灶干粮 (kitchen god provisions) for the deity’s journey.
Shaanxi people grow up eating buns—they’re woven into every facet of local life.
Ask a self-proclaimed "bun-buying veteran" Xi'an local for help, and if it’s doable, they’ll say "馍问题" (no problem). If not, it’s "馍办法" (no way). While others wax poetic about regrets, Shaanxi folks say, "Having teeth but no锅盔 (hardtack), or锅盔 but no teeth." To criticize someone, they quip: "Ugly folks stir trouble; dark buns need more side dishes."
▲ Fierce tiger floral buns | Photographer: Qing Ying
Some say Shaanxi has two Qinling Mountains: one visible, dividing north and south, its 72 valleys’ waters rushing toward the Wei River, enriching the Guanzhong Plain and nurturing civilization.
Another lies hidden in the diet of Shaanxi people—steamed buns and noodles, two products from the same flour. Noodles are soft and winding, like the flowing water systems of the Qinling Mountains, while the buns resemble the rocks and countless peaks of the range. Together, they shape the people of Qin.
▲ Shaanxi Guokui (a type of flatbread) | Photographer: Xiao Luo
In fact, steamed buns are not unique to Xi’an, but talking about Xi’an inevitably involves buns, and discussing buns always leads back to Xi’an.
All kinds of buns converge in Xi’an.
▲ Tofu Pudding with Steamed Buns | Photographer: Xiao Luo
In the past, when people from surrounding counties and cities went out to work, their first choice was Xi’an, the provincial capital. Carrying their luggage and holding the bright idea of "making something of themselves," they boarded buses to Xi’an from all directions. If their resolve wavered along the way, they would pull out a bun from their luggage, eat it, and gaze at the passing scenery outside the window until they arrived in Xi’an.
▲ Crispy Scallion Pancake | Photographer: Xiao Luo
This is why you find buns from all over in Xi’an: Shandong yeast-steamed buns, Baoji’s King Wen Guokui, Weinan’s Chuantou buns, Qian County’s Guokui, southern Shaanxi’s walnut buns, northern Shaanxi’s yellow steamed buns... Where there are bun eaters, there are bun sellers. Countless distant places and countless people together form the "Bun Capital."
▲ A Bun Vendor on the Streets of Xi’an | Photographer: Geng Sanyi
Even when wandering, buns can bring us home.
When a Shaanxi native away from home starts describing a type of bun they once ate in their hometown, they’re not just recalling a remembered flavor—they’re saying they miss home.
▲ Eating Chang’an’s Buns | Photographer: Geng Sanyi
Cities: Nanchang County, Jiangxi | Liuyang County, Hunan | Xuyi County, Jiangsu
Culture: Huanggang City, Hubei | Qianling Mausoleum, Shaanxi
Life: Changzhou City, Jiangsu | Aotai Line, Shaanxi | Ningbo, Zhejiang
Design & Mapping | Wu Long, Lian Tong
Header Image | Photographer: Xiao Luo
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Geospatial Data Cloud Platform, Computer Network Information Center, Chinese Academy of Sciences
(http://www.gscloud.cn)
Proofreaders | Mo Yi, Zhi Jin